


He's Pining for the Fjords.

by Itch



Series: Sabriel One Shots [19]
Category: Monty Python - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Monty Python
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5093321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itch/pseuds/Itch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally the exact script of Monty Python's parrot sketch</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Pining for the Fjords.

Gabriel wasn’t in the best of moods as he stormed back into the little pet shop on the corner of Fifth, a bird cage swinging in his hand.

 “Hello, I wish to register a complaint.” he demanded. The owner didn’t respond, just kept flipping the pages of their newspaper, long hair hiding their face. Gabriel frowned. “Hello, Miss?” _Now_ the owner looks up.

 “What do you mean "miss"?” Gabriel could see that now his hair was out of his face, this was in fact a man. And a very cute one at that.

 “I'm sorry, I uh… have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!” _Great excuse there Gabe m’boy 10/10 would use again._

 “We're closing for lunch.” He went back to flipping his pages, and Gabriel was taken aback. Someone comes into your store, demands to make a complaint, and you tell then you’re closing for lunch? He wasn’t putting up with it.

 “Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this parrot what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.” He wiggled the bird cage slightly.

 “Oh yes, the, uh, the Norwegian Blue... What's, uh… What's wrong with it?” Gabriel put the cage on the counter, bird laying at the bottom of it.

 “I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!” The owner ducked, looking into the cage before standing up, shaking his head.

 “No, no, 'e's uh... he's resting.” Gabriel squinted at him. _Was this guy for real._

 “Look, _matey_ ,” he put an extra effort on the matey, letting him know they WEREN’T mates. Whose mate sells them a dead parrot?  “I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain how he knows a dead parrot when he sees one.

 “No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable bird, the Norwegian Blue, didn’t I say? Beautiful plumage!” the owner was sticking by his claim that the parrot wasn’t dead. Gabriel was sticking with his conclusion that the owner was an idiot.

 “The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.” _why is it stone dead? Stones are never alive in the first place._ He shoved that thought to the side, he needed to concentrate on convincing this guy the parrot was dead.

“Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!” Gabriel sighed louder and more heavily at the man.

 “All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!” The owner raised an eyebrow as Gabriel began to shout at the birdcage. “'Ello, Mister Polly Parrot! I've got a lovely fresh cuttle fish for you if you show…” The owner leant over the counter, smacking the cage and Gabriel jumped.

“There, he moved!” Gabriel was about to hit the man over the damn head with the cage.

 “No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!”

 “I never!” Oh now he was _really_ going to hit him with the cage.

 “Yes, you did!”

 “I never, never did anything…” Right. Two can play at that game. Gabriel shook the cage, bashing the bars and raising his voice.

 “'ELLO POLLY!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!” He took the parrot from the cage, smacked it on the counter three times before throwing it into the air. Both he and the owner watched it rise into the before plummeting to the floor. “Now that's what I call a dead parrot.” There was no way he could argue with him now.

 “No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!”

 “STUNNED?!” Gabriel glared. _I’ll tell you who’s stunned mate, I’m fucking stunned at your stupidity._

 “Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Norwegian Blues stun easily, major.” the owner was trying his best, and Gabriel couldn’t fault him on his eagerness, and his downright enthusiasm that the dead parrot was in fact alive.

 “Um… now look… now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That parrot is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk.” he rolled his eyes as he remembered. He could almost hear his brother Cas in his head telling him he was an idiot for believing the owner. But how could he not, with those hazel eyes, and those perfect dimples?

 “Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the fjords.” Gabriel was about to slam his head on the desk. PININ’ FOR THE FJORDS?

 “PININ' for the FJORDS?! What kind of talk is that? Look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?” He put his hands on his hips. Answer THAT one.

 “The Norwegian Blue prefers keepin' on it's back! Remarkable bird, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!” What kind of bird prefers being on its back? A dead one. That’s what. A bloody dead one. Gabriel had half a mind to swing the cage round and smack the owner in the face with it. Then again he'd been wanting to do this since the conversation bloody started.

 “Look, I took the liberty of examining that parrot when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.” He pointed at the cage, where you could just see the two nails. He looked back at the cute owner, waiting for his response.

 “Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM!”

 “"VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!” Gabriel was nearly at the end of his tether.

 “No no! 'E's pining!” Cute or not, Gabriel Novak had it.

 “'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!” He shouted, putting the cage on the floor, hands on the desk. The owner paused, quiet for a rather long time, as if absorbing all of the shouting that’d just happened at him. Now Gabriel was noticing the way his green plaid accented his eyes. _Stop looking him up and down and get mad about the damn parrot._

 “Well, I'd better replace it, then.” Oh no shit, Gabriel thought snarkily. The owner bent down, looking behind the counter “Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of parrots.” Of course they were.

 “I see. I see, I get the picture.” the owner ducked again, before standing back upright.

 “I got a slug.” Gabriel blank-stared at him. A slug. A fucking slug.

 “Pray, does it talk?”

 “Nnnnot really.” of course it didn’t. Slugs don’t talk.

 “WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!” He had lost all his patience now.

 “N-no, I guess not.” Oh no. _Oh no Gabe look what you did you hurt the poor Moose’s feelings. Fix it._ He felt a little guilty. Maybe he wasn’t the owner, and was just an employee trying his best.

 “Well.”

There was an awkward silence between the two of them, dead parrot on the floor beside Gabriel’s right foot. If anyone had been watching, he’d have thought they’d look like a comedy sketch or something.

 “D'you.... d'you want to come back to my place?” ...not what he’d been expecting to break the silence.

 “Yeah, all right, sure.” Why not? What did he have to lose? “I’m Sam by the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> i giggled so much writing this
> 
> find me: pumpkinspicegabriel / whodoesntlovesabriel


End file.
